On the Subject of Abuse
by Marilyn Cane
Summary: " I am not some beaten down housewife with the alcoholic boyfriend and cat that sleeps on my feet at night. I'm not abused. And I don't want a cat, even if I do like cats better than dogs." - The misunderstandings of others.


I...yeah, I really don't know where this came from. I finally saw Fight Club (and I'm seventeen...I probably should've watched this earlier), had no idea what it was about, and the end mindfucked me beyond belief. This idea came around before I knew that Tyler wasn't real, so this is an **AU** for as if he is. Also, this is the first slash I've ever written, so don't expect perfection. Also, **I've never read the book**, though I'm looking for it. It would be lovely if my Nook decided to act normal again. So, basically, it's following the movie. And since I don't remember Jack's age, he'll just be twenty-five. Why? Because I like that age.

And even then, it's pretty AU. **Keep that in mind if you don't recognize something.**

Disclaimer: Sadly, I own neither Edward Norton, nor Brad Pitt, though wish fulfillment is away nice.

.

"On the Subject of Abuse"

I regain time when the alcohol hits my face.

"What the fuck?" I say, batting the hand away and forgetting for a moment that this is Tyler. He hits the back of my head in annoyance. I let him. I let Tyler do a lot of things. "Where am I?"

"Home, you idiot," Tyler answers and goes back the wiping the blood and vodka from my temple because it's been two months and we still don't have medicinal alcohol. Maybe it's time to finally invest in it. "You're doing it again."

I am Jack's confusion.

"Doing what?"

He's behind me, but I know he's scowling. He doesn't like when I ask stupid question. I think this counts. "That forgetting thing," he says. "You were talking two seconds ago about cleaning the windows."

The last thing I remember is exiting Lou's Bar. My arm was around Tyler's shoulders.  
I don't remember being injured. I don't remember if I won or lost the fight.  
My insomnia's gone, and time is still wrong.  
I don't like butterfly stitches. Tyler's using butterfly stitches on my head.

"Am I sleeping?"

"Like fuck if I know. Hold still."

I'm fidgeting and hadn't realized it. Maybe I should see a doctor.  
I don't think Tyler will let me.  
He comes back around in front of me, holding a damp, bloody washcloth, and wipes under my cheek. The blood feels like sticky tears. I don't like crying.  
I stop fidgeting.

"Is Marla here?"

"No."

"Is she coming?"

"Don't think so. Stop caring."

I don't answer because I don't like lying to Tyler and I can't stop caring. I don't want her to come even if I should.  
I don't care about Marla. I care about Tyler. I'm forgetting again. When I forget, I want him to myself.

I am Jack's relief.

"What happened while I was out?"

This time I can see Tyler's scowl. I think I know him better than I should. "You were never 'out,' snowflake," he tells me. "Don't you get it? You were _awake_. Again. God, why do I deal with you?"

"Because I don't have an apartment and helped you start Fight Club and don't punch like a girl?"

Tyler's scowl turns into a wily grin and his spiky blonde hair is forced down with drying blood. I think it might be my blood. "You're still more trouble than you're worth."

The thing about Tyler is that he's kind of a dick. He makes me feel like shit, but he makes me feel worthwhile too. Even when he tells that I'm not.  
I'm so fucked.  
I don't want to be fixed.

"I wanna go to bed," I mumble as he finally stops bandaging me up. "Let me get up, Tyler."

He backs up and lets me stand. I almost wipe out and catch myself on the table, nearly knocking off all our soap.  
Tyler catches me, but makes a sound of exasperation.  
I don't know why be puts up with me either.

I am Jack's self-hatred.

"You're such a fucking loser."

He lets go of me and I stay on my feet. I follow him upstairs. I expect to split at the door of my bedroom and he'll go up to the next floor.  
This doesn't happen. He grabs the back of my shirt as I touch the door knob and pulls me away.

"Your mattress is shit and you hurt your back," he says. "You're sleeping with me tonight."

He's used this excuse with me once before. I'm not sure it was true then, and I'm not sure if it's true now. The sex is great, though.

I don't protest.

Tyler smiles.

I smile too. What makes Tyler happy makes me happy too.  
Or at least I think.

We're in the room for ten seconds and my shirt's off, my hands fumbling with the button of his jeans. My mouth is attached the junction where shoulder meets neck and I'm pretty sure I care more about his pleasure than mine. His jeans come off easy and my sweat pants follow. Sometimes I forget that Tyler doesn't mind actual kisses and for a split second I'm surprised when his mouth meets mine. I don't forget that he's a sadist and don't bother holding back a wince when his short finger nails dig into a half-healed cut above a bruised rib.

It starts to bleed.  
I pull his shirt over his head.  
The wrapper of a condom is ripped broken and it's been over a month since this happened. He doesn't bother with his fingers.  
I scream. He chuckles.  
The scream doesn't matter. We're alone for miles and miles anyway.  
This time I almost go out for real. It hurts that bad. My tolerance has gotten better since Fight Club started, but this pain is different.

I am Jack's closed eyes.

"We have to do this more often," Tyler says, words coming out at odd intervals. His pace is erratic.

I am Jack's pounding heart.

I managed to get out, "Then stop inviting Marla."

I release first. It's been a month for me, three days for him.  
He releases two minutes after. I'm not sure if this is an accomplishment for me or not.

Half an hour later after round three we're on his bed. My head's on his shoulder, my arm thrown over his chest. He doesn't move me. I don't like how gentle he is after sex even if that makes no sense to me. He's Tyler, all fast talking and rough demeanor and hard punches to the rib cage and face. His arm is around my waist. My back hurts. I think I must've hurt it after all. Getting shoved against a wall probably doesn't help.

"Did I lose the fight?"

My words are slurred.

"No. You knocked him out when I was going to call the stops." He yawns. "Go the fuck to sleep, snowflake."

.

A girl sits on the corner of my desk three days later. I think her name is Katie. Or it might be Victoria, like my high school girlfriend.

"Does the boss want to see me or something?" I ask.

Katie-Victoria is hot. She's the type of girl I should want. But I don't.  
I don't because I have Tyler.  
I love Tyler. I don't know if he loves me.  
Probably not.  
It doesn't matter either way. Not anymore.

She smiles sympathetically. My computer shows impeccable work. "No, Jack," she says. "I just -" She pauses, and clears her throat. "Anyway, I was wondering if everything's...okay."

I am Jack's revelation.

"Yeah," I answer. I pretend to be confused, but I'm not. On all outward appearances, I can guess what it looks like. "I'm fine."

Katie-Victoria sighs and riffles through her bag. "Look, Jack," she says and pulls out a card and pen, "my sister is a therapist." She scribbles a number of the back of the card. It reminds me of Marla. I don't want to think about Marla. "If you ever need help, or just need someone to talk to who won't - Well, call her, okay?"

"This isn't want you think."

I don't like her smile. I don't like sympathy. There's no reason to feel bad for me. Save it for the starving kids and abused animals on PSAs, I want to tell her.  
I look at the front of her card. Her name is Anna May, which doesn't start with a K or a V.  
A girl named Anna once kissed me in the freshman hallway. Her boyfriend dared her. She was a cheerleader. I was valedictorian. I don't know how I survived this long without a fight.

"Sure it isn't."

"I'm straight. I don't have a girlfriend. I live by myself."

I can't lie to Tyler, but I can lie to everyone else. I can lie to myself, too. Katie-Victoria-Anna reaches over and moves some hair from my face. I look messy again. I have a cut on my temple. I'm good at lying, I think. Physical evidence is more concrete than verbal protests, but that doesn't mean it's right. I am not some beaten down housewife with the alcoholic boyfriend and cat that sleeps on my feet at night.

I'm not abused. And I don't want a cat, even if I do like cats better than dogs.

I don't like sympathy.

"Just...think about it, okay?" she says. "Please, Jack?"

This woman speaks in ellipses. "Okay," I answer. "I'll think about it."

Katie-Victoria-Anna leaves. I throw the card away on my way home.  
I've memorized the number.

.

"You're shitting me, right?"

I'm not an idiot. In high school I was valedictorian and it wasn't just because of luck. I can put two and two together.  
Bunk beds can only mean one thing.  
They also happen to look more comfortable than my mattress. I've been crawling into bed with Tyler more and more lately.  
And I really hate Marla.

"'Course not," Tyler answers. I think I really hate him too. "I don't lie to you, snowflake."

I don't believe this. Everyone lies. I lie. He lies. Marla lies. Mom lied, and Dad did too. I never missed a day of school. I've never fallen in love.

"You won't be able to have Marla over," I say. "She doesn't strike me as much of a people person."

He quirks a brow. "Why should I care?"

"She's over all the time."

Tyler smirks. "Stop hiding behind other people," he says. "If there's something you got to say, say it straight. I'm sick of this passive aggressive shit."

I don't lie to Tyler, but I omit. Mom used to do it too. Dad just hit me.  
Or he didn't. I don't remember it. I don't know where the thought came from. I've never been in a fight before.

"I'm not passive aggressive."

"Jack."

Tyler doesn't call me Jack. Everyone else does, but not Tyler.

"Fine," I said. "I don't want anyone else here."

Tyler rolls his eyes like a girl, but he's about as far from a girl as possible. "You're such a fucking loser, snowflake."

_Sure it isn't. _

I'm not calling.

"Please, Tyler?"

"What," he says, taunting, "scared someone'll judge us?"

I am Jack's breaking heart.

He kisses me and I stand still. This usual proceeds sex.  
I'm not in the mood for sex.  
He pulls away and I'm only half relieved. For the most part I feel indifferent.  
I shouldn't feel indifferent. This isn't like me.  
Suddenly I feel scared and kiss him, latching on, and I swear to God he's grinning.

I'm on his bed. The sky outside is dark. My mouth tastes like him. I lost time again, and he's talking.

"...wait another few weeks. I don't trust them enough yet. Fuckers need to learn they aren't all special - Shit, Jack, you did it again, didn't you?"

Jack. Jack. I don't want him to call me Jack. I'm sitting up, holding my head. "Yeah," I say. I don't lie to Tyler. "So...they aren't moving in yet?"

"Don't hurt yourself, kid." I'll take that as a no. I lie down and press my hands to my eyes. "Stop being such a pussy. I didn't hit you."

I never thought that he did. I wonder if he loves me. I wonder why I don't care.

I am Jack's depression.

.

A week later and we haven't brought up the bunk beds again. It's Saturday night and I'm throwing up. Tyler's leaning against the door frame.  
This is not because of Fight Club. It's three AM.  
I'm not sick either.  
I was asleep. Why am I never allowed to sleep, I think. The universe must hate me. I threw up a lot as a kid too. I remember my mom rubbing circles on my back.  
I never missed a day of school.

When I finish, Tyler holds out my toothbrush, paste already on it. "Thanks," I say. I feel like shit.

I am Jack's stupidity.

"What's your problem this time?" Tyler asks. He's annoyed. I seem to have a gift when it comes to annoying him. I really have to stop that.

I don't want Tyler to leave me.

I rinse my mouth. Our toothpaste is too minty. "I don't know." My sweatpants are really loose, even with the draw string. I've lost a lot of weight. I was skinny already. "I'm going to bed."

Tyler doesn't say anything and moves out the way for me to stumble past. I don't want to go back to sleep.

I spend the rest of the night scrubbing windows.

.

Fight Club doesn't mean that Tyler's quit his job. I haven't quit mine either. I spend Friday night sitting on his desk while he rolls _In Dreams. _He says this movie is too stupid to throw in any subliminal messages. We share a cigarette. It's not smart for him to hold a cigarette while working with film. I haven't slept in a week.

I am Jack's exhaustion.

I say, "You can't hit me in the face anymore," a good three weeks too late.

Tyler doesn't look at me. "You never complained before."

"Some girl at work thinks I'm in an abusive relationship."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I'm not. Which is true."

"Then what's the issue?"

"She gave me a number to a shrink."

Tyler pauses what he's doing and the film keeps playing. He looks at me. I like his eyes. "Did you _call_?" he asks.

I shake my head. I might've when I lost time, but there's no indication. Tyler looks away again. "Then I don't get why it's a problem," he says.

"It's annoying?"

He shrugs. "Fine." He clips the film. There's half an hour left. Then he has to play it all over again. "Most of it's not me. Get better at dodging."

.

I don't get better at dodging.  
On Tuesday I get an email from Katie-Victoria-Anna's sister at work. Her name is Diana Pepper and she uses Gmail.  
I delete it.  
I don't tell Tyler.

I am Jack's omission.

.

Tyler's asleep when Marla comes down the stairs. It's two in the morning. My hair's sticking up at all angles.

"You look like shit," she says and asks me if I wants a bagel.

I say no.

"Good. I don't feel like sharing."

"What're you doing here?" I ask. It's two in the morning. I should be the only person awake.

"Leaving," she answers, throwing her knife in the sink and taking a bite of her breakfast. I spent the night in my room reading. I must've blocked them out. Marla stands. "I miss seeing you in the support groups, Cornelius."

My name isn't called Cornelius. Sometimes she calls me Rupert.  
Most of the time it's Jack.

"I don't need them anymore."

She ruffles my hair on the way out. "Keep telling yourself that," she says, and leaves.

People are idiots. I'm an idiot. Marla's an idiot. My boss is an idiot.  
My hands are shaking when I pull out my cigarette. A girl in grade school told me the same thing. Her name was Sheryl.  
Sheryl was an idiot too. I was never abused.  
I'm not abused. There are footsteps on the stairs. My hand is bleeding. I feel like I'm always bleeding.  
My dad never hit me. That's not why I have nightmares.

I am Jack's denial.

Tyler enters the kitchen. He's not a morning person and looks confused. "I thought you were sleeping."

"My insomnia's back."

"Marla's gone."

"I know. I saw her."

"I told her to go home," Tyler says. "Didn't feel like dealing with her bitching anymore."

"Hm."

"You know, it's like six hours before you have to start getting ready for work. Try to sleep."

In the early hours of the morning, I act a little insane. I give him a lopsided grin. "Aw, Tyler, are you worried for me?"

He gives me a hard punch in the arm. At least it isn't the face. "Just get some sleep." He doesn't say it, but the invitation is there. I just need to sacrifice some of my pride to get it. Typical Tyler.

"Can I stay with you?"

He scowls. "You're so fucking needy, snowflake."

I sleep four and a half hours. We're tangled together, but this isn't cuddling.

Tyler doesn't cuddle.

.

I'm not an expert on love. I've never been in love. I've never read a romance novel. I've never seen a Meg Ryan movie. But I'm pretty sure love's supposed to make you happy, not miserable. Maybe I'm not in love. Maybe I'm just desperate. I think this a lot. Then he'll throw his arm around me or kiss me or get me against a wall or drag me to bed and _force _me to sleep and I know it's all bullshit.

"So," Tyler says as he eats the pizza I brought home after work, " have you ever get fucked by a guy before?" I give him The Look. "You know what I mean."

"No," I answer. "I've told you that before."

I feel uncomfortable and I don't know why because sex doesn't make me awkward and never has and Tyler is the first guy I've ever slept with.  
I wasn't abused as a kid. Sheryl was an idiot. Dad was just a jerk, that's all.  
Mom never hated me because I was never a replacement. I don't need a therapist.

"I'm not so sure about that."

"Why?"

"You know _way _too much about what you're doing."

"We've been sleeping together for months."

"Yeah, but I meant the first time."

_First time. _We sound like high school students. "I've never slept with a guy." And I don't lie to Tyler. "You were the first person I slept with in three years."

"Three years?"

Girls don't like skinny, socially awkward guys like me once they hit adulthood. My sexual experiences ended with college until Tyler. Same with relationships.

I tell him.

He says he'll make it up to me. He also says I'm a shit liar.

I don't lie to to Tyler.

I am Jack's addled mind.

.

I regain time in the middle of a fight.

There's a fist coming towards my face. I dodge and try to figure out what day it is. I think it's Saturday.  
I don't know the name of the guy I'm fighting. I elbow him in the side of his head.  
I spot Tyler in the crowd. His smirk fades.  
Nameless hits the floor. The fight is over. I had a lucky shot. People cheer. They start heading out.  
I guess that was the last fight of the night.

"You're so fucked up, snowflake."

"I suppose."

He kisses me. We're in the kitchen. My hand's digging into a knife we used to cut the bread.

I've been bleeding a lot lately.

"I'm starting to think I like insanity."

It's the closest thing to a compliment that I'll ever get.

"So that's why you're obsessed with yourself."

Tyler laughs. We eat dinner at one in morning. I throw the knife in the sink. I stay downstairs when he finally goes to bed. I won't be able to sleep tonight, Tyler or not.

Insomnia's a bitch.

.

I should've found my own apartment. Or called Marla. I should've gone anywhere but here.  
I've been thinking that a lot lately. Because there's a problem. A big problem.  
I need help.  
Fight Club just isn't cutting it anymore.

I wake up for real this time.

I'm on Tyler's bed and I've woken him up. I'm gagging.  
He drags my ass out of bed and throws me in the bathroom. I'm not gagging anymore. Nothing happens.  
I can't breathe.

"Jesus fuck, man." He's leaning over me, hand on my shoulder. His _there_ness calms me down. I can breathe again. Sort of. "Give me a heads up next time."

"Sorry," I say. I sound like I've spent an entire night fighting. I wish I was. Fight Club isn't cutting it anymore, but it distracts. "Sorry for waking you up, Tyler. Go back to bed."

"Jack." I don't want him to call me Jack. "Tell me what the fuck is going on. I'm not exactly equipped to deal with a mental break at the moment."

So I tell him. I don't cry.  
He takes me back to bed.

I am Jack's endless cycle.

.

This...wow. Okay. I don't know if anyone's going to read this. Sorry for any OOC. Probably doesn't help that I'm sick as hell.

Written in like two hours.


End file.
